The Prince of Ice and Fire
by Violet-Pears
Summary: Sansa Stark has always been a dreamer; a big believer in fairy tales. When she is personally invited to Kings Landing, is it possible that her dreams may just be coming true - as twisted as it all may be. After all, that's what Targaryen princes do best, is it not? Start wars over Stark girls. (Canon Divergence - Rhaegar Won) (Rating may go up)
1. Chapter 1

**Roberts Rebellion ended with Rhaegar taking the throne. For a time, the seven kingdoms were at peace once again.**

**At twelve years old Sansa Stark was sent to Casterly Rock; betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon, whose father had recently died. She longs for nothing more than home, but a personal invite to Kings Landing from Princess Rhaenys changes everything. Befriending the Princess is simply the start of something Sansa could have only dreamed of.**

**Sansa had always been a dreamer, believing in fairytales and prince charmings. She had always been acutely aware of the darker side to life, but had always wished for the light. But despite knowing how dangerous Kings Landing can be, the naïve child within her hopes a hansom prince can save her.**

**_After all, that's what Targaryen princes do best, is it not? Start wars over Stark girls._**

* * *

**Prologue**

Up until Robert Baratheon died, she had been happily living in Winterfell. She had known – known from the day it had been arranged – that she was betrothed to the Lord of Storms End's eldest son. The match was most certainly not one that pleased her. A part of her believed that it was simply Robert clinging to a dream – getting as close as he could to having a Stark girl in his family.

She did not like Joffrey Baratheon, not one bit. She despised him, actually. The first few times they had met, he had seemed pleasant enough – charming, even. But the older they got, the more she began to dislike the boy. He was mean, cruel even. He would torment her at every opportunity he got – leaving bruises on her arms and biting her lips.

When her father had told her of the match, she had to choke back the tears and force a smile onto her face. Robb had cornered her later, just as it was getting dark, demanding to know why she was withholding the truth. She didn't want to marry Joffrey, Robb knew that she hated him – Robb hated him too – but she had a duty to do as a lady. The last war was still fresh in so many peoples minds, she did not want to be the cause of another – no matter how _romantic_ it seemed.

It was something that played in her mind at times. The romanticism of Roberts Rebellion. Rhaegar had stolen her aunt away in the middle of the night and the two had married. It was not unusual for Targaryen's to have two wives – she had done her research on the matter. Her father, grandfather, uncle and Lyanna's betrothed (Robert), had not known that Rhaegar had not actually kidnapped her, they had not known the two had decided upon marrying. In trying to retrieve Lyanna from Kings Landing, both her uncle and grandfather had been killed – for 'treason'. And so the war broke out – ending only once ser Jaime Lannister had killed the Mad King. Lyanna had died after birthing a son, and Rhaegar had been distraught. It was just before Lyanna had died that Eddard had found her; her dying words explaining everything to him.

Prince Jon Targaryen was her cousin, one she had never met and she doubted that she ever would meet. They had written to one another, on the occasion – her father wanted them all to view him as family, after all that's what he was. When Bran and Robb had found the direwolf pups, one had even been sent as a nameday gift to Jon. Apparently he had named the young creature Ghost.

Her direwolf had been left behind. Left in Winterfell while she was in Casterly Rock. She did not feel safe without Lady by her side. But the Lannisters did not want such a creature in their home, and so she had to oblige. It had been Bran and Rickon that had promised to look after Lady. She trusted that Bran would care for her young wolf, while Rickon would make sure Lady would get plenty of exercise.

It was after Robert died, and Stannis had taken over looking after Storm's End – until Joffrey was of age – that it was requested that she went to Casterly Rock. She was taken from her family and put into the lions den. '_You're going to be the lone wolf among the pride of lions, sister._' Arya had said to her. And then she had broken down, surprising her younger sister, because she knew exactly where she was headed and what was going to happen.

The time she had spent in Casterly Rock could probably have been worse. She enjoyed reading in the library, where she would have the company of the imp. She came to enjoy Tyrion's company; he was one of the three people who she could actually stand to be around in her new ho- _prison_. Myrcella and Tommen made for nice company as well, and sometimes she would pretend she was elsewhere; that she wasn't a lone wolf among a pride of lions.

She spent all the time that she could in an attempt to avoid Jeoffy, and Tyrion even tried to help keep him away from her. But no matter how many times the imp slapped or berated his nephew, he would still find her, he would still hurt her. And she began to realise that the more he hurt her, the more she was changing. No matter how hard they tried to turn her into a lion, she would always, _always_ be a wolf. And whenever she would lay eyes upon her betrothed, the familiar words would enter her mind. _Winter is coming._ Because there was more to those words than the Lannisters seemed to realise.

* * *

It was just under a year since she arrived in Casterly Rock, that the raven arrived. A raven for her, with the royal seal upon it. She was excited, yet nervous as she opened it – her eyes scanning the unfamiliar script. The looping handwritten invitation made her body tremble with excitement, a grin spreading across her face. It was a royal invitation, from the princess _herself_. The Lannisters could not say no. They had no choice but to allow her to accept. They, too, of course got an invitation – but theirs had been written from someone else; not a member of the royal family.

She knew the stories of how dangerous Kings Landing could be. There was many a tale of treachery, or deceit, and the lies... She knew she had to be careful. She had to be wary of what was going to happen; what could happen. But she believed herself to be prepared – after all, she had survived the lions den for almost a year. Cersie blindly teaching her how to play a game that was dangerous and not by any means fun. Jaime unassumingly teaching her how to be unsuspecting, yet dangerous. Tywin teaching her, day after day, that loyalty lies with family. And Tyrion purposefully taught her how to use her mind, taught her how to strengthen her resolve. And so she was sure that whatever occurred in Kings Landing, she could survive it.

The thought of spending time away from Casterly Rock, of spending time away from the Lannisters, made her excited. She had hated it, and though she was not headed north, not headed home, she was getting to leave her own personal hell, and nothing, _nothing_ was going to put her down. Not even Joffrey and his cutting words and cruel actions. After all, she was going to get to spend time _away_ from Lannisters; what could possibly be better than that?

Tyrion had smiled at her, rolling his mismatched eyes as he caught sight of her, already mounted on her horse and ready to go. She flashed him a grin and he chuckled as he was helped up onto his own horse. She hoped to ride alongside him, and not Joffrey. Her plan was to stay as far away from the boy that looked far too like Jaime for it to be natural. She would have ridden alongside Tommen or Myrcella, but neither of them were to be actually riding.

And as they left Casterly Rock, she felt more free than she had done in a very long time.

* * *

**This is my first try at a GOT/ASOIAF fic. I hope it's not _too_ bad. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

The journey had been exactly what she had expected. She had kept close to Tyrion as they travelled, not wanting to put up with anyone elses company. After all, she despised the company of almost everyone else she was travelling alongside. She had spent most of the journey ignoring Joffrey insulting anyone who made much of a comment on anything, and he had been especially cruel to his own younger brother.

She tried to comfort Tommen as best she could, without undermining – too much – whatever it was that Joffrey had said to him. Tyrion helped with that as well, cutting Joffrey down when the young lord was trying to make himself appear somewhat larger than life.

Of course, she too had been targeted by Joffrey's cruel words on the journey, and the more silent she was, the darker the route her mind would take.  
It would not be the first time that she had thought about what would happen if she killed her betrothed. She knew the punishment for her crime, and sometimes that was all that stopped her from doing it. Was he really worth death? No. He was not worth it. His death could not be by her hand, and she was sure Robb would happily serve her his head on a silver platter.

However, that would result in a war. The kingdoms did not need to suffer through yet another war, and Sansa wanted to actually see her brother alive. She would hate herself if when she received Joffrey's head, she also received Robb's.

War was not something she was an expert in, but she knew how damaging it could be. She knew how devastating that last war had been; how crippling it had been. And she would rather that did not happen again. She would not like to live through a war. Especially not one started because she wanted one horrible boys head on a platter.

All she had to do was think smarter. She did not want to marry Joffrey. What she needed to be doing – rather than plotting his death – was planning a way to get out of the betrothal without killing or being killed; no matter how pleasant killing Joffrey could be.

Before she knew it, they had reached the gate to the Red Keep. Everyone had grown silent as they entered the castles courtyard. Sansa's eyes were drawn everywhere at once. It was not lost on her that her previous prediction had been correct; the three royal children were stood waiting on them rather than the king and queen. She bit back a smile, taking in a deep breath.

Joffrey was the first off of his horse, sauntering over to the royals with – what Sansa could only describe as – a smarmy smile on his face. One by one everyone was coming down, off of their horses. Used to being ignored by the Lannisters and their men, she shifted in a way she had done so many times before, so that both of her legs were dangling off of one side of the horse.

After she had landed – shakily – on the ground, she was aware of someone approaching her. Biting back a frown, she looked up to see the person in front of her. Dark grey eyes met her own blue and she felt herself freeze for what felt like an eternity; though it was merely a few seconds.  
It took her a moment to realise who he was and who he wasn't. Looking at him, she saw nothing but her father. But she was smart enough to realise that her father was not _that_ young nor did her father wear black and red.

She dropped into a curtsey. "My prince." She pulled herself back up again, a smile fixed to her face.

He held out his hand and she, nervously, took it. He leaned over placing a kiss to the back of her hand. "My lady." He murmured, before straightening up. A small smile tugged at his lips. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Sansa."

And it seemed to take a moment to remember that this was her cousin; that they were related and she was no longer without any family.

'_But he is still a prince_.' She reminded herself. Family or not, royalty was royalty.

"The pleasure is mine." She responded, before allowing her eyes to drift around the courtyard. Cersei looked almost angry while Joffrey glared openly at her. Tywin's face appeared neutral, while his eyes calculating and critical. And there was relief and something somewhat smug in Tyrions eyes as he smiled reassuringly at her.

"Lady Sansa!"

She almost jumped out of her skin as the new voice pierced through her ears. The young woman that was approaching her seemed only a few years her senior. Her brown hair was twisted up in a complicated style that Sansa could barely comprehend how it had been done. She was dressed in a beautiful violet and white dress, that was ruffled slightly at the bottom and had beautifully embroidered designs covering the material. It was far more beautiful than anything Sansa had ever worn – or was likely to ever wear.

Before she knew it, princess Rhaenys had lightly embraced her, dropping a kiss to each of her cheeks. "I am so glad you came. I have been most excited about your arrival."

Sansa felt her cheeks burn slightly and she smiled gratefully. "It is an honour to be here, I too have been most excited about coming here."

The look in Rhaenys eyes told Sansa that she had said the right thing.

"That will have made Rhaenys entire year." A new voice cut in. "Your visit is almost all she has been speaking about." Once again, she took a princes hand, and Aegon leaned down to kiss the back of her own before straightening up. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

His eyes were twinkling, a violet the same shade as his sisters.

Before Sansa could respond, Rhaenys arm had looped through her own. "And you have already met our younger brother – your cousin."

"He looks so like my father." She did not mean for the words to slip out of her mouth, it was simply meant to be an internal observation.

The sudden silence, however, made her realise she had spoken aloud. She opened her mouth to apologise when she heard the light giggle slip past Rhaenys lips.

"Here I had always thought he was supposed to look like his mother." Aegon chuckled while Jon's cheeks started to turn a light pink. "And yet his actions and demeanour are undeniably our fathers."

Sansa had never met her aunt Lyanna, and so could not say if he looked more like his mother than her father. All she knew was that the young man she was looking at reminded her so much of the father she missed so dearly. Jon looked more Stark than any of her brothers. She along with Robb, Bran and Rickon were all Tully, while Arya looked so much like their father. Her sister was _all_ Stark. And though Sansa and her brothers had the look of a Tully, they had the hearts of the Starks.

_Winter is Coming_. They were, and always would be, the words she lived by. She was a Stark. She was ice and she was snow. She was the north. And she was a wolf. And there was no one, who could take that away from her.

Rhaenys had turned to the Lannisters. "I apologise on the king and queens behalf. They are currently very busy preparing for the festivities." There was a pause for a second before the princess continued on "They would like for you all to dine with us this evening, though." The older girl turned to Sansa, a smile on her face. "Come, now, let me show you to your chambers. We have arranged for them to be as close to my own as possible."

Sansa felt her heart leap slightly as she was lead out of the court yard andinto the castle. To say she was excited would be a bit of an understatement. She was going to have chambers relatively close to the Princess, which surely meant that Joffrey would be no where near her. She smiled brightly, happy to be away from the Lannisters and relieved to know that avoiding Joffrey would likely be far easier than she had initially expected.

The conversation with the princess had been light. Sansa had been informed that a number of the Houses would be attending the festivities, then had sadly informed her that the Starks would not be there. Sansa had been slightly upset by that, but not too much – she had been without her family for a year, and no longer being under the constant eye of the Lannisters, it would be possible for her to get in touch with them.

Rhaenys had seen some of the plans for the tourney, and was helping to organise some of the feasts. From the way things sounded, it was all going to be wonderful. It had been so long since Sansa had actually been to a feast, far less time since she had actually attended a tourney.

As they reached the door to Sansa's temporary chambers, a small smile crept up onto the princesses face. "I do hope you do not mind, Sansa. While you stay with us, I have replaced your handmaiden, temporarily – I... The Lannisters have quite the reputation, and I am sure you would like your stay here to be as pleasant as possible." The smile on her face grew slightly. "I would not want them to be spying on you. You are _not_ their property."

Sansa felt her heart racing, and she was sure it was in her throat. She felt her chest tightening and her mouth moved to open, but she knew not what to say.

"You are Jon's cousin – his family. And his family, is my family." Rhaenys grinned at her. "I truly hope you enjoy your stay. If you need me, my chambers are just down the corridor." She pointed in the direction, and Sansa followed the direction of her finger to a door on the opposite wall. "I shall see you soon."

And Sansa opened the door to her chambers as Rhaeyns walked towards her own.

_Family_.

Sansa was unsure how to take what Rhaenys had said to her. Was her new handmaiden to be a spy for the royal family – no, the princess did not seem like that kind of person, after all she had gifted Sansa with a new handmaiden to avoid the Lannisters spying on her. Rhaenys seemed so friendly and _protective_, even.

She closed the door behind her, before looking around the room. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight. It was huge compared to both her Winterfell and Casterly Rock chambers. The colouring scheme was that of the Starks, with the bed all white and grey. The walls were a mix of the two colours, and the large windows reminded her of the thick glassy windows that had been in her old chambers in Winterfell.

_Family._

It was the closest to home she had been in just over a year. Her heart tightened and her eyes burned.

Though it was not her home, she could see herself being very happy during her stay at Kings Landing, and perhaps, just perhaps, there was nothing more to Rhaenys offering of friendship than a simple desire for a friend. The Gods knew that Sansa was so desperate for a friend. Perhaps the princess was too.

* * *

It had been a year. Over a year, in fact. It still did not sit right with him. He knew it was normal, knew that it happened to lady's and lords, but it did not mean that it sat any better in him.

Sansa did not belong at Casterly Rock. It bothered him that she was to be locked away, hidden from the world. She was of the north. She belonged in the north. It would sit better with him if it was a lord of the north she was to be wed to. But then again, even that did not sit quite right with him. She had a destiny, a path to venture onto and Casterly Rock was not where Sansa Stark belonged. Though, if he had it his way, she would never, _ever _leave Winterfell. It was where the Starks belonged. All of them. They were a family; a pack. Wolves are loyal, they don't leave. Only the weak are left behind. And they were not – never would be – weak.

Lady had been miserable since Sansa's departure, and he had taken it upon himself to try and help the fair direwolf. But to no avail. Lady needed Sansa, just as he knew Sansa needed Lady. They were Starks of the north. They were wolves. A formidable foe and a loyal ally.

And she was gone. A prisoner.

He often wondered if she was like him – like Arya and Robb. If she dreamed of being Lady. Being the wolf. The dreams were odd and unusual, but they made more sense to him than they did anyone else. He had mentioned his dreams to both Arya and Robb, who both admitted to occasionally having similar dreams. But they used the word occasionally – it was usually all he dreamed of.

Sansa had not written to them once since her departure, and he grew more worried by the day. The wolf in him told him it was all wrong. That she needed help – but what could he do?

Rickon sensed it too. The four year old boy was as aware of the complete...wrongness of the situation. Rickon was as wild as Shaggydog, his entire demeanour was that of a wild wolf. He may not have been as wild as Rickon on the outside, there was most definitely something darker and animalistic that lingered in his own mind. And it was that part of him that believed that Sansa should be at home. In Winterfell. With them: her pack.

There was something else that lingered in his mind. Something darker, more powerful. Something telling him that he had somewhere to be. Somewhere to go. But he couldn't. He was constantly impatient, waiting for his sister to tell them she was at least alive. The Lannisters could allow that, could they not?

He braced his hands on the top of the castle, eyes staring down at the two wolves that sat waiting for him to climb back down.

He proceeded to turn his gaze on the horizon, looking south. His face twisted as he felt the dread twist in his stomach. Peace would never last. The tide was turning, he could sense it. Something bad was going to happen, but he did not know what. He hoped his sister would come home before the peace turned to war once more.

Because if war did break out, and Sansa was not home, he knew that his pack would never be together again.

* * *

She had been ready for a while. Her new handmaiden not quite as efficient as her last, but she would do. After all, she did not work for the Lannisters. Being sure she had some time, she found some parchment and sat by the window, quill and ink at the ready.

Staring at the parchment, she realised that she was unsure of what it is she was really, supposed to be writing. What was she to say to the family she had not seen in so long. Perhaps the truth – but then what could her family do to save her, when it seemed there was someone else who was already trying to do that. Someone who would have a much easier time saving her, seeing as her parents were the _king and queen_. No matter how dangerous Kings Landing was, there was nowhere safer for her to be, not when Joffrey was so near.

_My Dear Family,_

_It has been so long since I have seen you all. Do not doubt that I have missed everyone terribly, I simply have to had the opportunity to write. But I have that opportunity now, for how long I am unsure. Currently, I am not at Casterly Rock, instead I am in Kings Landing on request of the princess herself. _

_Can you believe it? Princess Rhaenys personally invited me to the Red keep! It was such a wonderful surprise. I have met prince Jon too. He looks so like you, father, that I almost thought that it was you – until I realised how young he looked. _

_I miss you all terribly. I wish I could visit; I truly do. I miss Winterfell and Lady. I even miss the Godswood.. I hope you are all doing well. I pray for you all, when I can. _

_I am afraid I am not to sure what else to write, so much has happened and I have such little space and time._

_~ Sansa Stark_

Frowning, her eyes narrowed slightly at the parchment. It would have to do, no matter how unhappy she was with it. Her family deserved to hear from her, even if it was a simple letter.

All she had to do was get hold of a raven.


	3. Chapter 3

Once they had began eating, he found that his eyes were continuously drawn to the girl that sat in between his sister and the imp – Tyrion, he believed his name was. Sansa seemed relatively happy to be chatting away to the youngest Lannister, sparing no real second glances to the others. Which peaked Jon's curiosity even more. Why ignore that family you are supposed to be wedding in to?

_She is betrothed to a Baratheon, not a Lannister_. He had to remind himself.

And then he decided that it must be some twisted, cruel fate. A beautiful young Stark girl betrothed to the likes of Joffrey Baratheon – no wonder his sister was so desperate to invite Sansa. It was as if Rhaenys just knew Sansa would need some form of _real_ companionship.

His eyes drifted back up to Sansa as he heard her lightly laugh at something the im- _Tyrion_, had said.

The Sansa Stark that was sitting opposite his brother was not the Sansa Stark he was expecting. He had built her up in his head during the time Rhaenys had been going on – and on, and on, and on – about the younger girl arriving.

Sansa had the look of a Tully, that much was obvious. 'So much like her mother.' People had a habit of saying. But for someone who had spent a year at Casterly Rock and was now in Kings Landing, she should have at least had a tan, but he skin was still snow white. And the steeled look in her eye when she looked up at Joffrey told him that she could be as icy as the blue of her eyes.  
It made his lips twitch slightly. The look of her mother, and the heart of her father. But as rumour had it, all the Stark children could be as wild and as cold as the north – one just had to break the dam's to let the north in them out.

He had known from the moment she had arrived on her horse who she was. Among the golden haired Lannisters and Baratheons, she stood out like a sore thumb.

He disliked the way the Lannisters looked down at her; as if she was undeserving of being in their presence. He believed that would be a stupid way of thinking, if the royal family deem her worthy, why should the Lannisters not? Of course, Tyrion obviously cared for the girl, he just could not comprehend why the others did not.

She was pleasant and polite - blushed easily and appeared to be the perfect lady. But there was still that something in her eyes, reserved and hidden. His eyes drifted along the table, and he wondered what living with the Lannisters had actually been like. But then as he dropped his gaze back down to his food, he decided that maybe he did not _want_ to know. Though that did not mean that perhaps he _should_ know.

He knew the Lannisters were not the nicest of people. He knew that if the Lannisters had it there way Joffrey Baratheon would not be betrothed to a Stark... No, they would have tried to get their claws onto Rhaenys. He wanted to scoff at that, there was no way his sister would put up with the Baratheon shit.  
And that was exactly his view on Joffrey Baratheon - he was a little shit. He could see the glares he would send Sansa, his betrothed. The way he spoke and acted; as if he was a spoilt little brat, though Jon suspected Joffrey was exactly that.

Jon was always an observer. He was good at it. Watching the way people interacted, reading body language and quietly listening to conversations. It was how he got I know people - how he judged them. Less than half way through the meal and he wanted to punch the arrogant smile off of Joffreys face. He wanted to kick Cersie and Tywin out of the castle, he was unsure about both Myrcella and Tommen – not paying too much heed to the younger Baratheon's, and he had decided that despite his unkind reputation, Tyrion was nice enough.

"Have you ever been to a tourney before, Sansa?" The imp had asked.

Before she could even open her mouth, Joffrey had sneered a response "Of course she hasn't. Who would even want to attend a tourney in the north, its a barren wasteland."

He noticed the almost flinch from Sansa, and the steely look that left her eye as quickly as it arrived. "The last tourney I attended was, perhaps, six years ago. The event had been arranged for my fathers nameday." She replied somewhat quietly.

Joffrey scoffed. "It's hardly an event if half the kingdoms were not invited."

"Perhaps that _was_ the event." Tyrion responded in ease. "Celebrating without having to see your face there."

Sansa smirked and Joffreys face burned. Jon bit back a laugh and noticed his brother had not even bothered to _try_ and conceal his own peal of laughter.

"Tyrion." Tywin spoke up. "What part of, be nice to your nephew, did you not understand?"

Tyrion had rolled his eyes, before focusing on his nephew. "There are many families in the north that would happily attend such an event. Just because _you_ were not invited does not make it any less of an event. No doubt it was simply a gathering among friends. You know what the Starks are like; far too friendly with everyone. Their people love them rather than fear them."

Sansa looked as if she could barely conceal the smile that so obviously wanted to grow as she looked at Tyrion.

"Love them? What use is loving-"

"Enough."

Tywins voice seemed relatively calm, but it was enough to shut both Tyrion and Joffrey up.

"What was your fathers nameday tourney like?" Rhaenys had turned her attention to Sansa, who happily turned to talk to the princess.

* * *

He had not even the chance to make it to his own chambers before Rhaenys seemed to corner him, a bright grin on her face. She was stood by his chamber door, her hands clasped in front of her. He recognised the look in his sisters eye, the same look she had worn the day that she told him Sansa had been invited to Kings Landing for the festivities.

"_Jon!"_

_He looked up, eyes locking onto the face of his elder sister. He was instantly worrying over his own well being when he caught the look in her eye. Though the fact she seemed to be radiating pure joy lessened his fear – however minuetly. _

"_Guess what?"_

_He took in a deep breath, feeling more confused by the minute. "Your getting married?" That was his best and worst guess. There was no way she would be that happy about being told she had to marry anyone that wasn't-_

"_No! Sansa is going to be coming to the festivities for fathers nameday!"_

"_Who?"_

_Her eyes narrowed slightly, the smile shrinking as her gaze dropped to the direwolf at his feet. "_Sansa_." She repeated. "_Stark_." She lifted her gaze, eyes locking on him. "Joffrey Baratheons betrothed." She sneered out the name of the eldest Baratheon; it was no secret among their family that Rhaenys did not like the boy._

"_Well, I suppose seeing as she-"_

"_No! _I _will be inviting her. Me. A personal invitation! I cannot wait, it will be so much fun!"_

_And that glint was back in her eye. The one that intimidated him more than he would ever care to admit._

"_That is wonderful, sister."_

And there she was, looking at him with that stupid, intimidating glint in her eye. He shifted almost nervously as he looked at her. "Should you not be with Sansa?"

His sister _smirked _and shook her head. "I told her to have an early night, after all that riding, I am sure she needs a decent night sleep." And then her smirk seemed to grow slightly. "Although I am glad we have broached the topic of our dear guest. What do you think of her?"

And he was starting to get this gist of what his sister may – or may not – be up to. "I think she is lovely, sister. A bit lonely, but lovely."

"You think she is lonely as well?" Rhaenys bit down on her lip, no longer smirking. "I believed so too. Being with those Lannisters and that _Baratheon_ boy could not have been much fun. I am most excited about her finally being here." She smiled lightly, a knowing look in her eye. "Yes, I did think that you liked her."

He knew his sister could feel lonely at times. There were no real friends for her in the Red Keep, and most who did try to befriend her were always out for their own gain. He finally understood why she had been so desperate to meet Sansa. She wanted a friend whom she knew she could trust. The Starks had a reputation for loyalty and honour. To befriend Sansa meant that Rhaenys would not have to worry about the younger girl trying to use her, and that she would actually have some kind company.

"I assume your opinion on '_that Baratheon boy_', has not changed." He wanted to chuckle, but he now shared his sisters opinion on the boy, and thus there was no real reason to laugh.

"Worsened, in fact." She shook her head lightly. "He does not deserve someone like Sansa. I have never been fond of the match – but after today, I simply hate it."

"Joffrey is just a little shit." Jon replied calmly. "That is my opinion on him. I have often wondered why that particular match was made; I know my uncle and lord Robert were friends but..."

"Common belief would be that Robert wanted a Stark girl in the family." A faint smile tugged at her lips as she eyed him carefully. "Anyway, I do not think Stark girls are destined to marry _Baratheon_ boys, do you?"

And with that, his sister turned on her heel and walked away from him. And he felt more confused than he knew he probably should be.


	4. Chapter 4

"It is such a beautiful day, do you not think, brothers?"

Jons eyes flickered up, landing on his sister. She was taking a seat next to Aegon, a smile plastered to her face. Jon was starting to wonder if that smile would be at all removable during Sansa's stay.

"It is as beautiful as every other day, sister." Aegon replied lightly.

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes at her older brother for a moment, but was unable to keep the mock annoyance on her face for long. "There are a few more families to be arriving today." Her violet gaze landed on Jon. "Aegon and I will be greeting them; of course, you can join us if you wish, but I was hoping you could look after Sansa – show her around?"

Jon started wondering why he had not expected his sister to come out with something along those lines. He resisted the urge to narrow his eyes at his sister, it was not her fault she had to greet all the visiting families. Aegon and Rhaenys had their duty to do in place of the king and queen, who were busy with preparations.  
A part of him – a small part – found it strange that it was more than likely his siblings would marry. It was Targaryen 'tradition', his father had once told him that had Daenerys been born sooner, he would have – no doubt – been wed to her. But because when he was of marrying age and he had no sister, he was free to marry who he wished: Elia Martell and Lyanna Stark.

He could remember his father telling him that wedding a Stark was a good replacement for wedding another Targaryen. Though the Stark's had been wed to members of other houses, the Stark blood was still strong. Stark children were all wolves in some shape or form. They had the blood of the north; the blood of the first men.

"Of course, Rhaenys."

Before he could even think of continuing with what he wanted to say, a huge grin spread across his sisters face. "Brilliant." She clapped her hands together, fingers threading together. "I shall inform Sansa. Could you take her to where we keep the ravens? I promised someone would take her so that she may send a letter to her family – they are desperate to hear from her."

That much he knew. A letter from his cousin Robb, five months previously had informed him that no one in the north had heard from Lady Sansa since she had departed for Casterly Rock. It had made him curious; wanting to know why she had not sent word that she was well. Each of the Starks ravens to her had been unanswered. He had – of course – informed his sister of this, a moon before she had told him that Sansa would be personally invited to the festivities.

He had, of course, informed his northern family members that Sansa would be attending the festivities, and that he could inform them of her well being.

"Tell her to meet me here when she is ready." He smiled lightly, before taking a drink of the fresh fruit juice that sat in front of him.

"I shall do." She grinned happily. "I think it will be a wonderful start to the day for her – not being faced with the Lannisters." She cast a look at their older brother before casually stating "Aegon shares our dislike for the _Baratheon_ boy."

"I am sure most of the Seven Kingdoms share our dislike for that boy." Aegon chuckled lightly. "Even his own uncle does not like him. You heard what Lord Tywin said as we were dining."

"Hmm. You know it is bad when your own family does not care for your company." Rhaenys stared at the table for a moment, in contemplation. "There is just something twisted about that boy."

"There is something almost, _mad_, about him." Aegons brow furrowed slightly.

Jon took a moment before deciding to share what he had once heard Jon Arryn share with the maester. "I over heard the Hand saying that there is a possibility that Joffrey is not even a Baratheon."

And he had two pairs of intrigued violet eyes focused on him. Curiosity shone in his siblings eyes. His own dark eyes flickered in the room, before he leaned forward slightly – his siblings copying his action.

"Come now, little brother, do not leave us hanging." Aegon prompted.

"It was a few moons back, I was wanting to ask the grandmaester a question but when I went to find him, he was in deep conversation with Jon Arryn. I went to leave when I over-heard something rather interesting. Jon had noticed how odd it is that Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen all have golden hair. _Lannister_ hair." Jon paused for a moment before continuing. "It gets better. Jon visited a number of Robert Baratheon's bastards to see if any of them were blonde. Each and every one of them had dark hair; _Baratheon_ hair.  
"At first the maester said that perhaps the blood of the Lannisters was stronger than that of the Baratheons. But then, he agreed that it was strange that not one of the children looked like their father in the slightest."

"Well, this is interesting." Aegon grinned as he shared a look with his sister. "The Lannisters are hiding something."

"I would suggest that we investigate, but I doubt father would be happy if we started digging into the legitimacy of the _Baratheon_ children during his nameday festivities." Rhaenys pointed out. "However, perhaps when the festivities are over, we can do a little prying."

"If the children are not legitimately Baratheon's though, then none of them are heir to Storms End." Aegon rubbed his chin. "That would make Stannis the Lord." Each of them exchanged a look.

"Better him than Joffrey." Jon pointed out.

Aegon chuckled. "Very true. From what I've seen, that boy would make a terrible lord. His people would despise him."

"I do not doubt that they already do." Rhaenys muttered.

* * *

"Father says we should be hearing word of Sansa soon."

Robbs voice pulled Bran out of his musings. He looked up, eyes locking on his elder brother, a smile tugging at his lips. "Really?"

"The prince sent word a few moons ago telling me she would be attending the kings nameday festivities."

Bran looked to Rickon who was sat next to him in the grass, the three Direwolves laying lazily behind them. The younger looked back at him and the two grinned at one another, before Bran turned back to look at Robb.

"Do you think she will write?"

A smile appeared on Robbs face as he nodded. "I am sure she will."

"I wish she would visit." Bran stated quietly, and he heard Robb give a small sigh. "Rickon agrees with me. We miss her. And Rickon is so young, what if he forgot what she looked like?"

"Looks like mother." The younger responded dully, before turning to the wolves behind him. "Lady wants her home."

Bran was sure Robb was fed up of these conversations. Arya had already told them that praying for Sansa to come home was a stupid, childish thing to do. But he had caught her praying in the Godswood not a moon previously for her sister to come home unharmed. He believe Arya just wanted to come across as the strong one. He knew she and Sansa were not as close as they could have been, not as close as Sansa and Robb, or himself and Rickon, but they were the only girls; and they had each others backs.

Arya missed Sansa, though she would never admit it. Bran had seen her stare at the empty seat when they broke their fast together, or when they were dining. When she had nightmares, it was Sansa's old chambers she still went to; despite her sister no longer being there.

Bran and Arya had once discussed what the reasoning behind Sansa's lack of contact could be. His sister had instantly put the blame on the Lannisters, and Joffrey. And the way his stomach twisted when she mentioned it, he was positive that was why his sister did not write to them.

Robbs eyes had focused on the Direwolves. "I am aware that Lady misses her, we all do."

"No. Lady _really_ misses her." Rickon ran a hand through the young wolves fur.

Bran and Rickon had all but adopted Lady; having been asked personally, by Sansa, to look after the Direwolf until she returned. But her return was seeming less and less likely. Rickon had already confided in Bran that he could not remember what Sansa sounded like. His memories of their sister were faint, he had a faded memory of her singing to him when he was ill; and there was few others.

"Is it true what father said?" Bran asked, changing the topic. "About the White Walkers?"

Robb eyes his brother and took a moment before responding. "The White Walkers have been dead for a thousand years. However, the threat of the King Beyond the Wall, is very much real."

"But the rangers are all going missing. Osha says-"

Robbs eyes narrowed slightly and Bran shut himself up. Osha had attacked him and Robb had reluctantly allowed her to live. After a while, he had befriended the woman, she had told him a number of things, informed him of some of the things that happened beyond the wall. He had one memory of the wildling woman telling himself, Rickon, Sansa and Arya some of the traditions they had beyond the wall. He had found it most fascinating.

"What does Osha say?"

"She says things in the North are not safe. That the dead are walking." His shoulders slumped slightly. "She came south of the wall for a reason, Robb. Perhaps you and father ought to listen to her reasoning. I doubt she would lie to you."

* * *

She stepped into the hall, hands in front of her, gripping the rolled up parchment in her hands. He was stood a few feet away from her, waiting patiently. He looked up and smiled at her as she approached. She dropped into a curtsey "My prince." tumbling past her lips.

As she stood, he took her hand and leaned over, placing a kiss to the back of her hand. "My lady." He murmured as he straightened up. His eyes focused on the parchment in her hands for a moment before he looked back at her face. "Shall we?"

He held out his arm for her and she gratefully took it. He lead her out of the hall and her eyes flickered around, taking in everything.

"Did you rest well, my lady?"

Her gaze flickered up to Jon as she smiled lightly. "Yes, my prince. It was the best sleep that I have had in many a moon."

He frowned for what seemed to be less than a second, before his lips twitched upwards slightly. "Jon." He stated. "Please just call me Jon."

"Then I would ask that you call me Sansa."

"Very well, Sansa. I am glad you slept well."

She decided against saying 'me too'. She doubted it would be all too appropriate. She was not lying when she said it had been the best sleep in many a moon. She had not slept well since leaving Winterfell. And when she did sleep, her dreams were either plagued with horrible words, and her being beaten and broken. Other times, her dreams were confusing. Sometimes the made little sense, she would be running – padding – around Winterfell (the castle, the courtyard, the Godswood...), it had taken her three turns of the moon to realise that in those dreams, she was _Lady_.

"How is Ghost?"

She had not seen the princes Direwolf since arriving in the Red Keep, and she was desperate to do so. After being without Lady for so long, she longed for the company of a wolf. She could scarcely remember what Ghost had looked like as a pup, to see him fully grown would be nice.

"He is doing very well." A fond smile appeared on Jons face. "Rhaenys and Aegon joke that his personality is the same as my own."

"It is most likely true." She thought back to Lady and her siblings Direwolves. "Shaggydog is as wild as little Rickon. Summer is calm, curious and adventurous, like Bran." She chuckled. "Nymeria and Lady got along as well as Arya and myself; I truly hope they have not fought one another. And Grey Wind is every bit Robb."

"Shaggydog?" Jon looked at her, amusement dancing in his eyes.

She gave a small sigh. "I believe Rickon only named the poor animal that due to the fact he is so young."

"It is a rather ridicules, but brilliant name for an animal." Jon laughed lightly. "Though it is nice to know that Ghost is not the only one with his owners disposition."

"My father once said it was almost as if it was fated for us to find the pups."

"Perhaps it was." He opened a door and lead her into the room. "We have plenty of ravens, once you have sent one off to Winterfell, I shall give you the grand tour of the Red Keep."


	5. Chapter 5

"And this is the throne room."

She looked around, awe stricken. The huge dragon skeletons that hung in the room were both intimidating and amazing. She stared at them in wonder, trying to imagine how they may have looked when they were fully grown and _alive_.

As a child, she had not believed that dragons had existed. It was a simple myth – a legend. But seeing the skeletons changed her mind completely. They had been very much real. She wished she could have seen one when it was alive. The thought of seeing something so huge, flying high in the sky – leagues above her... It would have been amazing, she was sure of it.

She was suddenly even more grateful for having been given the opportunity to visit the Red Keep, for she would never have been given the chance to see anything like it in the north.

She suddenly wished she had her siblings with her. Robb would be shocked at discovering just how real the dragons had been. Arya would be studying them along with Bran, both who would have been awe stricken. And Rickon would no doubt be trying to find a way to play in the skeletons.

"I used to think that dragons were just myths, made up to make history seem a bit more interesting." She confessed quietly.

"Most people do."

She was not surprised by his answer, she knew most of the people in the north did not believe in the existence of dragons.

Her mind had been opened, to a degree, to the _possibility_ of them having existed after the few conversations she had with Bran's Wildling..._friend _Osha. The fact that she was so adamant on giants being real, the White Walkers and a number of other creatures. When Sansa had questioned how she knew they were real, Osha had scoffed slightly before telling her that she had _seen_ them.

Of course, she had questioned that if the White Walkers were back, then should the Seven Kingdoms not be warned about the impending danger. She had read enough books to know and understand what it would mean if the White Walkers had come back in the numbers Osha had seemed confident that there was. Osha had told her that the Nights Watch were currently unaware of the presence of the White Walkers, and even if they do alert all the Seven Kingdoms, who would believe them?

"People believe that giants and mammoths do not exist either." She adjusted her stance slightly, turning to look at him. "I suppose, if dragons were real, they must be too."

He eyed her curiously, taking a moment to think. "Well... You cannot rule out the possibility of their existence."

"A Wildling named Osha, she works in the kitchens at Winterfell. She says she has seen them."

He cocked his head to the side slightly. "Really? She has actually seen a giant and a mammoth."

"Yeah." Sansa smiled. "She made it sound so exciting. I wonder what it would be like to actually lay eyes upon something like that – alive I mean." She looked up at the dragon skeletons, her thoughts drifted to Old Nan, and her tales of the Ice Dragons.

"I wonder if the Nights Watch have ever seen them."

She thought to her uncle Benjen, just because the man had never mentioned seeing giants or mammoths – or any other mythical creature – it did not mean that he had _not_ seen them. She made a mental note to ask him about it if she ever saw him again.

"I think they must have." She smiled lightly. "Someone _must_ have. How hard could it be to see a giant?"

His laugh was gentle as he shifted his weight. She removed her gaze from the dragon skeletons to look back up at Jon. "Do you believe in the myths of the Ice Dragons?"

He looked back at her curiously. "Ice Dragons?"

"Old Nan used to tell my siblings and I tales about the ferocious beasts. Though, Old nan made almost everything seem ferocious in her stories." She though back fondly on the woman who used to tell tales that terrified Sansa to the point where she could barely sleep. Arya used to get scared by the stories at times as well, and Sansa would secretly be relieved when the younger girl would sneak into her chambers to fall asleep in Sansa's bed.

"They were like the fire breathing dragons, but their breath was icy cold – like it was winter itself. Old Nan said they were untameable, but no one ever _tried_ to tame them. They were big and pale; easily disguised in the winter. I suppose they were the opposite of the fire breathing dragons."

"I suppose we will never know. Though I suppose the Starks would be the ones to tame them, it would put a new twist on _Winter is Coming_." His lips pulled up into a grin and she laughed lightly.

"We already have our wolves, having Ice Dragons may be a bit too much. I do not even think that there would be room in Winterfell to keep a dragon – though my younger siblings would argue that point and claim they could make room."

* * *

Before she knew it, she had been hunted out by Rhaenys who asked that she joined her in her solar to dine. Sansa graciously accepted the request, looking forward to a meal that the Lannisters would not be going to. In fact, as Sansa was preparing herself in her chambers, she realised that she had not seen any of the Lannisters of Baratheons all day. She had gotten through almost an entire day without the awful company of her future relations.

And she felt happy.

It was the happiest she had been in a long time, when she thought on the matter. She had spent the better part of her day with Jon; after sending word to her family she had been taken on a tour of the Red Keep. She had seen almost everything by the time Rhaenys had found her in the Godswood. '_This is the third place I have checked for you two._'

She had not realised how late into the day it was when Rhaenys had found them. It had been so long since time had evaded her, there was never anything truly enjoyable to lose herself in at Casterly Rock. The Red Keep was even more amazing than she had previously imagined it to be. She had decided that she could be quite happy in there, in Kings Landing. But, she still longed for home. She longed to see her family again, to be in Winterfell once more.

Once she had arrived in Rhaenys solar, the older girl kissed both her cheeks before inviting her to sit at the table.

"I assume you had fun touring the Keep." Rhaenys grinned at her, as food was laid out on the table.

"It was the most fun I have had in a long time." Sansa admitted quietly, and the princesses grin seemed to widen.

"That is good to hear. I am sure it will please you to know that Jon had a lot of fun as well."

Sansa felt her her lips tug into a smile before she could even think to try and stop it. "He was wonderful company."

"He will not admit it, but he is very glad you are here. He has been curious about his mothers family for as long as he has known that he had a different mother from Aegon and myself." Rhaenys was no longer grinning, a soft yet serious smile in its place. "Might I ask you a question?"

The words, you just did, fluttered into Sansa's head and she wanted to frown at herself. It was such an Arya thing to think.

"You may."

"Where is Lady? Your Direwolf. I had hoped I might get to meet her, or have her introduced to Ghost, I believe the poor boy is rather lonely."

Out of all the questions Sansa had expected Rhaenys to ask, that was not it. A part of her was surprised it was the princess questioning the lack of the Direwolfs presence, and not Jon.

"The Lannisters forbade me from taking her with me to Casterly Rock." She replied, frowning slightly. "Apparently they did not want a terrifying beast in their home."

Rhaenys did not miss a beat. "And yet Joffrey is allowed to live there."

Sansa almost choked on the drink she had taken a sip of. Looking up at the smirking princess, Sansa could not help the grin that spread across her face. "Only because Tyrion never gets his way."

And the two laughed lightly.

"Hmm, I suppose that is true." Rhaenys let out a small sigh. "There was no reason for that _Baratheon_ boy to return to Casterly Rock. How is he supposed to learn how to be Lord of Storms End, when he is not even there?"

"I think Tywin is doing it merely to spite Tyrion." Sansa responded. "Tyrion used that same reasoning and all Tywin said was that it was up to Cersei."

"And so Joffrey remained. Though there is an upside; in Storms End, you would have been far more lonely than at Casterly Rock. At least you had Tyrion as a source of companionship." Rhaenys picked up her drink and held it out slightly. "However, you are at neither Casterly Rock or Storms End at the moment. You are in Kings Landing, with me, someone who truly wants us to be friends."

Sansa picked up her drink, and the two cups were knocked gently together.

"I would very much like for us to be friends as well."

And home seemed to feel a little bit closer to her.

* * *

"So, did you learn much about your Stark relations?"

Jon looked up at Aegon who was grinning at him. He was seriously starting to think that his elder brother and sister were up to something, and he wanted _no_ part in it. His brothers eyes held that same something that his sisters had just the night before, and he did not want to know what was running through their minds.

"I learned a little." He responded. He paused a moment before asking "Have you ever heard of Ice Dragons?"

His brother shook his head as a new voice cut in. "Very little is known about the Ice Dragons, it is said that they disappeared not long after the Valyrians tamed their fire breathing kin."

Jon turned to look at his aunt Daenerys. She was much smaller than he, but she was ages with him. Her silver hair was in loose waves and her violet eyes looked at him curiously.

"It is thought that their mere existence is myth."

"Many believe that the fire breathing Dragons are myth, and yet they were very much real." Jon responded.

Dany smiled at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. "That is true. Who knows, perhaps Ice Dragons still exist beyond the wall."

Aegon looked between the two of them. "I assume these are Dragons that breath Ice and not fire."

"It is in the name." Jon muttered under his breath, a smirk on his lips and Aegon narrowed his eyes at him momentarily. "According to Sansa's Old Nan, their breath was so cold it was like they were breathing winter itself."

"How does she know?" Aegon question sounded more teasing than serious.

"Through generations of story telling. It is not a very popular myth, though it does make sense that the northerners are well aware of it." Dany looked between the two boys. "How are your preparations coming along for the tourney?"

"They are coming along well." Jon replied.

"Well enough that I think I might be able to beat Loras this time round." Aegon grinned.

Jon rolled his eyes as his aunt laughed lightly. "I am sure you will."

He found that he was not surprised with his aunts following comment. "Apparently Joffrey will not be participating." From what he had seen of the boy, tourneys were not his kind of thing. He was the kind of person to boast of his skill, then refuse to prove it – either through fear of not being as good as he believes himself to be, or because he knows he is not as good as he claims to be.

"Surprise, surprise." Aegon chuckled. "Is Viserys going to be participating?"

"Unfortunately, he will not be back in time for the tourney." Dany replied somewhat quietly. "He is still travelling through the free cities. He sent word saying that he should return in a moons time, however. And yes, Aegon, he has promised to bring back gifts."

A grin spread across Jons older brothers face.


	6. Chapter 6

_The grip on her arm was incredibly painful and she did not doubt that there would be bruising left behind – again. He was sneering down at her, pale eyes holding a seeming madness. It terrified her. _He_ terrified her. And he knew it._

"_And where do you think you are going?" His voice was low and dangerous, and she just wanted to flee – to run as far away as she could._

"_I am going to the library, my lord." She replied in a voice far more steady than she had expected._

"_Again?" He scoffed. "I am starting to think my lady would rather spend time with my pathetic uncle than with me." And the grip on her arm tightened, and she could feel his nails digging into her flesh._

"_I simply love to read, my lord."_

_His eyes narrowed and he twisted her around and pushed her back into the wall. "You sit by him at meals and laugh – I have never heard you laugh in my presence."_

"_Your uncle is a funny man, you are far more serious. I do not believe you have ever told me a-"_

"_Stop talking, you stupid bitch."_

_And she shut her mouth firmly. He leaned forwards, she could feel his breath on her face._

"_I know you prefer his company – much like I would prefer _anyone_ elses company to your own. I do not like you; I believe there is only one thing you are useful for-"_

Her eyes flew open and she was panting for air. She sat up, eyes drifting around the room. She found herself with the desire to cry, but kept it held in. She had not cried at the time, there was no need for her to cry then.

So she peeled herself out of bed and got herself ready for the day, not wanting to disrupt her handmaiden from her own sleep. The dress she chose tied at the front, enabling her to tie it herself. Slipping into a pair of shoes, she decided upon going for a walk. It was early enough, the rest of the castle would no doubt be asleep and so she would not risk bumping into anyone and being asked why she was up so early.

It was how she found herself out in the Godswood just as the sun was rising, staring at the Heart Tree for the second time in two days. Back in Winterfell, she had hated the Godswood, much preferring her mothers sept. As she stared at the old Weirwood, she could not help but feel much closer to home, and if she stared long enough, she could fool herself into pretending she was in Winterfell. Robb was simply trying to freak her out by luring her into the woods, and Arya was hiding behind another tree, ready to jump out at her at any moment.

As she got lost in memories she did not recognise that she was no longer alone. Not until she felt a panting breath against her hand, and something cold and wet brush against her finger tips. As her gaze dropped, a hot tongue had replaced the nose. Her heart jumped in her chest and a grin pulled itself onto her face.

"Hello, Ghost." The Direwolfs red eyes rose to meet her own, and she moved her hand to run through the thick white fur.

His head leaned against her side, and she took in a deep breath. He was not Lady. He would never be Lady. But he _was _a Direwolf, the brother of Lady and she was ecstatic to see him – to feel him, even.

"You remember me."

And she could swear he nodded in response.

She was unsure as to how long she had actually stood there, her hand running through the unfamiliarly familiar fur of Ghost. Last she had seen him, he had been a mere pup and her memory of his was so faded and brief that she had not been able to picture the beautiful creature that stood by her. His temperament was wonderful, she had decided. Though she wondered, if he had the company of the other Direwolves, if he would be so calm.

It was only as she heard the bustle of the castle that she decided to head back. Her feet leading her out of the Godswood, Ghost padding along beside her, her hand tangled in the fur of his back. She could _almost_ pretend that it was Lady by her side.

A nudging at her side brought her out of her own imaginings as she gazed down at Ghost, who turned his head to the side. She followed his gaze, and noticed they were being approached by Jon. A small smile was on the princes face as he looked between the two of them.

"I was wondering why my bed was so cold when I awoke." His tone was teasing, but she wondered if there was truth behind it.

"I had the pleasure of his company in the Godswood." She replied lightly, instinctively running her hand through the Direwolves fur.

"Ghost seems to spend most his time in those woods. I am starting to get the impression that he keeps to the Old Gods."

Jon had already told her that he kept to the Old Gods. It made him feel slightly closer to his mother. She had most of her life visiting her mothers sept, or the Lannisters sept upon her move to Casterly Rock. But as she had stood in the Godswood the day before, she had considered a change of heart. The Seven had never done anything for her – had never helped her when she begged for it. Perhaps the Old Gods would answer her prayers.

"It would not surprise me." She smiled. "I know the other Direwolves enjoy what time they spend in the Godswood."

His face became slightly more serious again as he looked down at Ghost. "I am of the opinion that he misses the others." He then looked up at her. "Perhaps that is why he sought you out. You are a connection to his siblings." He gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "He has been restless since your arrival."

"As much as he misses them, I do not doubt that he would part from you. Wolves are incredibly loyal. I can remember Lady having to be locked in Brans chambers with Summer when I was departing. She did not want me leaving."

Though Sansa had often suspected that Lady knew as well as she did that the Lannisters and the Baratheons were not the nicest of people. Sansa had let herself believe that Lady was trying to save her. And maybe she had been.

"Ghost would have no issue wandering off on his own for months on end."

"Then you ought to ask yourself if that is something you would have no issue in doing as well." Sansa laughed lightly as he scrunched his face up slightly.

* * *

Samwell Tarly had always questioned himself. He had always wanted to know _why_. _Why_ was he such a disappointment to his family? _Why_ could they not just accept him for who he was? He had believed for so long that family was supposed to accept you for who you were, and yet his looked upon him with disdain and disgust, why?

Perhaps it was because he had always favoured books for swordplay. Perhaps it was because he favoured learning to fighting. Perhaps it was because he favoured knowledge to power. His family hated him, and he just wished he could understand. He wished he knew what it was to do to make them actually love him, like families were supposed to do.

But maybe that was it. Maybe it was his lack of knowing that made him so useless.

And so they took everything from him – stripped him of his claim to his fathers lands and lordship. They sent him to the Wall where he was stripped of his right to wed and have children – something he had wanted for most of his life, to have a child of his own. A child whom he could love in the way his parents never loved him.

And so maybe that was what was pushing him when Gilly asked for his help. He may not have been great with a sword – he was useless with a sword; no matter how often Pyp had tried to help teach him. He may not of been the ideal person for the task what-so-ever. A bit too fat. A bit too weak. But he knew his heart was in the right place. Gilly needed his help. And he would be damned if he refused her.

The Seven had never helped him. But maybe the Old Gods would.

Here in the north, maybe he could _be_ someone. A someone who was not the forever disappointing Lord Samwell Tarly. A someone who was not the useless Nights Watchmen. But a someone who was willing to run out into the bitter, freezing north in order to help someone who he does not know.

Because that is who Samwell has always been. He would put every person before himself. He would rather save someone else than save himself – because everyone deserves to be saved.

And sometimes, he thinks to himself, that everyone _except_ him deserves to be saved.

But the look on Gillys face as he tells her that yes, he will do all he can to help her, proves to him that although he was never who his parents wanted him to be. He can be somebody. Because there is hope in the girls eyes, and he cannot help but wonder if _this_ is what he has been waiting for his whole life.

For the first time in his life, he is getting to play the roll of the hero. He will never be a great hero. People will never sing songs about him. He will probably even get himself killed in a feeble attempt to protect her from the unknown. But he gets the chance to try.

And he does not want to fail someone else.

Not when they look at him with such hope in their eyes.

And so when Samwell steals off in the middle of the night, sword at his side, and Gillys arm tightly gripping his own. He knows he has done the right thing. No matter what it may cost him.

Later, when they are far enough away she thanks him, thrice over. She does not think he can possibly understand what he has done means to her. But he is slowly starting to think that her hope in him will be what saves him – much like his stealing her off into the night will save her and her unborn child.

It was the first brave thing he has ever attempted, and he does not want it to be as much of a failure as he has been for his parents.

"Its an old tradition."

Her words confuse him. "What is?"

"Stealing someone." She replied.

And as she continued telling him of this old tradition, his mind took him through history, realising it was not only Wildlings who practised such a tradition. Of course, it was _almost_ unheard of south of the Wall, but it still happened.

Men sneaking into a womans chambers in the dead of night – most normally an already betrothed woman – and he would steal her off into the night. It was sometimes portrayed in old stories of secret lovers. And the most famous occurrence of stealing a betrothed woman in the dead of night was Rhaegar Targaryen stealing Lyanna Stark.

He wondered if he should send a raven to Jon and tell him it was a Wildling practise, he was sure the prince would appreciate that piece of information. And then Samwell remembered that he may not have parchment, a quill,ink or a raven for a long time. Telling Jon – his only real friend – would be impossible for Sam's foreseeable future.

Samwell had met Jon three times throughout his life. Each time had been a pleasure for him because no one else was willing to spend time in his company. Jon had yelled at his younger brother for being mean to him, and had then proceeded to show Samwell the large library in the Red Keep. After their first meeting, they had kept in touch.

Samwell felt bad as he realised Jon would not be hearing from him any time soon. But he had something far more important to do. As the Starks so famously said _Winter is Coming_, and Samwell had a job to do.


	7. Chapter 7

**I apologise for taking so long to update. I had my leavers prom earlier this week, so was busy preparing for that rather than focusing on story updates. I am also a witness to my friend being attacked and so I have that to deal with as well. Sorry, for the delay, but here is the next update.**

* * *

Rhaenys was giving him _that_ smile again. Sighing, he raised an eyebrow as he met her gaze.

"Where is Ghost?"

He restrained himself from letting out another sigh, or even a groan. Of course that was what his elder sister was wanting to know. And he did not doubt that she knew where the Direwolf was either. Ghost would probably be wherever Sansa was, as he had for the past three days. Something Rhaenys already knew, and Aegon for that matter.

"I'm not sure." He lied, because if they both already knew, what was the point in her even asking him?

"Yes you are." She laughed lightly. "He has been spending an awful lot of time with our dear Sansa. From what I have heard, he even slept in her chambers and not yours."

Jon was well aware of that, seeing as how his dreams had been plagued with his cousin sleeping soundly beside him, hand fisted into his – or rather, Ghosts – thick fur. He had seen almost every movement she made as she slept. Heard her whimpers and sobs, and felt just how tightly she was gripping onto Ghost – as if holding him as tightly as she could would save her from whatever was happening within her dream.

Of course, since waking up he had been plagued by what had caused Sansa to suffer in the way that she had. Of course, when he had laid eyes on Joffrey only a few hours into the day, he suspected he already knew the cause. But he would not dare broach the topic in case he was wrong. Nor would it be polite to ask a lady about night terrors, nor confess to having dreams of _being_ his wolf. Even he struggled to come to terms with the latter.

"Yes, I was aware of that. His presence in my chambers was sorely missed."

Rhaenys laughed. "I am sure Sansa appreciates the northern company. The seven know that she misses her Lady very much."

"Why is Lady not with Sansa?" He could not help himself from asking. He had not asked Sansa, no matter how desperate he was to know why she did not have the company of her own Direwolf. And he did not doubt that Rhaenys knew; she and Sansa had quickly become good friends, and so it would only be natural for Rhaenys to have questioned the whereabouts of the Direwolf.

"Do you really think the Lannisters would allow a Direwolf in Casterly Rock?"

"No." He really did not. The Lannisters would have wanted to strip her of all connection from the north so that she could have no form of protection against whatever they did to her. Having Lady with them would mean that Sansa would have something to defend her. Without her Direwolf she was easier for them to target.

"Do you think..." He paused, frowning slightly. "Do you think if my uncle knew how they treated her, that they would break off the betrothal?"

She looked at him thoughtfully, and he almost felt as if he was being scrutinized. After a few moments, she offered a small smile and a shrug. "You will not know unless you try." Then the intimidating glint was back in her eyes and he felt like running off to avoid whatever she was to say next. "Have you asked her about Wildling traditions yet? I suggest that you do, you would probably find them incredibly interesting."

He raised an eyebrow once again. "Why would I care for Wildling traditions?"

Rhaenys shrugged slightly. "Some traditions are _interesting_, to say the least. Perhaps you should ask about them. You may even find one or two of them relevant."

And with that, she was gone, leaving him confused once again.

* * *

'_Not had the opportunity._'

He had not thought four words could plague him so much. How could Sansa have not had the opportunity? There should have been plenty of time for her to have written. If there had been no opportunity for _her_, surely no one else in all of Westeros would have no opportunity to write to anyone.

And so he decided she was lying. She had to be lying. And the Sansa he knew, did not lie. She was kind and honest, and would make the truth sound better even if it was awful. And she did not lie.

"Bran."

He looked up, eyes meeting Arya's. She looked as if she was getting ready to slap him, but he really did not care. He could easily just slap her back. Not that their mother would like it very much.

"Yes?" He asked, almost stiffly.

"Can you stop tapping the table with your fork, or I'll shove it though your hand."

He glared at her, and she glared back.

It was not his fault he was so nervous, or worried. Or nervous and worried. He wanted to know what was wrong with Sansa. Or why anything was wrong in the first place. He missed her company. Sure, she was too much of a girl at times, but it was still her that would sneak him a lemon cake when he was scared. It was her that had sung to him when he was ill, or had nightmares. It was her that read him the stories of the great knights that would rescue princesses before he fell asleep when he was still young enough to want to hear such stories.  
In fact, it was the devotion she showed in reading such stories, and her love for them that had inspired his desire to be a knight in the first place. The way she read the stories as the knights fought bravely, or the way her voice would become softer as she ready how the knight rescued some fair maiden.

His siblings always laughed at how much Sansa doted on such stories. But he was enamoured by them as much as she was. After all, he wanted to be a brave knight. A knight that would have songs sung about him for years to come. A knight that would rescue some fair maiden and live happily ever after.

He sighed and dropped his fork down on the table. There had to be another reason as to why Sansa had not been able to write to them. Not having the opportunity was just a lie. It _had_ to be.

The sour mood Arya and Robb had been in since the raven arrived told him that they felt the same way that he did. He had over-heard Robb even having an argument with father about going to Kings Landing to see her. But Bran silently agreed with their father when he had told Robb that Sansa would no doubt want to flee back home the moment she saw them, if Robbs suspicions were true, and that it could start a war.

'_It's ashame there is no one else around willing to steal her._' Osha had said to him.

Siblings cannot steal siblings. It was wrong. Incest was a crime in the eyes of the Gods. Or at least it was in the eyes of the Old Gods. He was not sure about how it was viewed in the eyes of the Seven, but if the Targaryens did it, it could not be viewed as _that_ wrong.

"Bran!"

"I put my fork down!"

"You _kicked_ me!"

* * *

"When a Wildling man wants a wife – whether she is a Wildling or not – he must kidna- _steal_ her. While risking severe injury or even death by the woman or her relatives, and the woman is too fight back – unless she wants him to steal her. As a rule, the Wildlings do not steal already married women, though they can steal those who are betrothed. After all, Wildlings do not really have betrothals of such. Stealing the woman is already, technically, a form of marrying them."

He was looking at her curiously, taking everything in. She was unsure why he had asked her about the Wildlings, though she was sure most people were interested in those who lived beyond the wall.

"They steal their women? Like in the old stories?"

And she was ever so tempted to say '_Like your father did your mother._' But she held her tongue, deeming it an inappropriate comment.

"Just like in the old stories." She smiled lightly. "I once thought that I would be stolen, rather than having my betrothed picked for me. Until I was old enough to understand what being a lady really was."

She could remember being younger and thinking that some hansom prince would sneak into her chambers in the middle of the night and steal her away. Just like what happened with the fair maidens in the stories and songs, or like what Rhaegar had done with her Aunt Lyanna. She had dreamed about it often when she was younger, and even after she knew it was not her fate, she would still dream of it.  
After being sent to Casterly Rock, she would dream that a knight would steal into her room and take her far, far away. Perhaps he would take her north and she would see her family again. But she would be stolen and in love and happy.

It was a dream she would refuse to give up until she was well and truly wed, with no chance of escape.

And no wedding was truly real unless conducted in front of a heart tree, in the sight of the Old Gods. A true, northern wedding was a real wedding.

She was almost shocked by such thoughts, something she had never dwelled on until that moment. But she almost smirked as she realised that perhaps, if she kept that view on things, she could avoid wedding Joffrey, because he would never wed her in front of the Old Gods, he would expect her to marry him in a sept.

"You thought you were to be stolen?" He looked as if he was about to laugh.

She merely smiled. "I _wanted_ to be stolen. I am of the north, we are a rather backwards people, or so you southerners like to think."

"There is nothing wrong with being a little backwards." He stated, smiling lightly.

She smiled brightly at him. "Very true. Now is that all you were wanting to know about the Wildlings or, is their anything else I can help you with?"

"Nothing more on Wildlings, Sansa. Though, Rhaenys would like me to request that you appear at the feast tomorrow evening, it shall mark the beginning of our fathers name day festivities."


	8. Chapter 8

Specifically, he could not remember the last time he had been in his sisters chambers. He supposed it was the first time he had been their since the start of summer. She was staring at him, annoyance written across her sleepy face, as he stood their with his arms folded across his chest. She was half sitting up in her bed, dark circles forming under her eyes.

"Wh-"

"Why did _you_ invite Sansa here?"

It had been bothering him since her arrival. He wanted a real answer, not the cryptic ones Rhaenys was so fond of giving him. And his sister could hardly run away from him when they were in _her_ chambers.

"Is that seriously why you are here?"

"Why, Rhaenys? I want to know what is going on in your head. Whatever it is, it's messing around with mines."

She pulled herself up into a proper sitting position and heaved a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "When I heard that she was betrothed to Joffrey, I was so glad that it was not me. But then, when I heard Robert had died and she was being taken to Casterly Rock... The Lannisters and the Starks hate one another. Having her at Casterly Rock was _wrong_. She does not belong there. I supposed she would be as lonely as I was, it would make for nice company – two lonely girls finally having someone to spend time with."

He was still watching his sister through semi-narrowed eyes. He had been right about the loneliness aspect, but he was more than positive that there was more too it than that.

"She is terrified of Joffrey and the Lannisters, you know. When you said that they would not even let her write to her own family, I thought it would be better for her to be here, away from them and spend more time with you." She sighed once again. "She is a northerner, Jon. And so are you. I do not know how to help her get out of her betrothal, brother. But I do know that the best way to prevent a marriage is to get her back to Winterfell. I would take her myself, but that would be more dangerous than you taking her. I am also sure that the Gods – be them the Seven or the Old Gods – would frown upon a lady stealing another lady."

"You want me to _steal_ my cousin, and take her north?"

Rhaenys shook her head, a small smile on her face. "I want my brother and my friend to be happy." She lay back down, pulling her sheets up to her chin. "Just avoid doing anything that might spoil fathers name day festivities. If you do choose to take her north, try and not get caught." She moved her head and caught his eye. "Just so you know, I heard a summer cold is spreading around at the moment. It would be ashame if you caught it just before the tourney starts." With a final, almost mischievous smile, she lay her head on the pillows; effectively dismissing him.

He was awake almost the entire night, his head taking him down all manner of routes. He was so caught up in thought, he almost missed breakfast.

He had known Rhaenys was lonely. It was somewhat obvious, depending on what was happening. But why would Rhaenys want to send her friend away. _But she isn't really sending her away, she is saving her._ He thought to himself. Sansa would no doubt wish to keep in touch with her friend. And when-_if_ everything blew over with the Lannisters Sansa would be able to return to Kings Landing to visit.

He almost wanted to laugh at how well executed Rhaenys plan seemed to be. Proving herself as a loyal friend, and gaining a loyal friend in return. It was also a rather selfish plan, he realised, but loneliness does the craziest of things to people. And if Sansa was ever remotely aware of Rhaenys plan, and agreed on it, then she was just as crazy as his sister.

But as he looked over at his cousin, smiling at something Tyrion had said, he thought she was just as clueless to his sisters schemes as he had been.

Rhaenys really did spend far too much time with Viserys and Aegon.

As well executed as her plan was, there was also the fact that when the Lannisters realised both he and Sansa were missing that everything could go terribly wrong. Rhaenys would no doubt fake being clueless, and the rest of his family probably would be very clueless as to what was going on, but the Lannisters would not take kindly to a prince stealing Joffrey's betrothed – even if they did not like her. He suspected they were using her as leverage against the Starks – a Stark does something the Lannisters do not like, something happens to Sansa.

The Starks would hopefully _not_ side with the Lannisters. After all, it was two of their relatives that had gone missing – and they would be headed north. But what would the rest of his family think? What would they do? What if the Lannisters did start a war?

He could not be the cause of such a thing.

He _would_ not be the cause of it.

Rhaenys plan was good, but there was flaws. And there was also the fact that stealing came with the prospect of technically marrying Sansa. What if Sansa did not want to be married to him? He could hardly blame her if she refused him stealing her. She would have to fight him though, if she wished not to be stolen.  
His lips twitched slightly as he imagined her trying to fight him off. But she wouldn't. Would she?

He suddenly frowned, since when had stealing Sansa become such an appealing idea?

* * *

Samwell let out a huff of air as he rubbed his hands together by the makeshift fire. Gilly was sat next to him, her eyes drifting shut every so often as she feebly attempted to keep herself awake. Sam had not been counting how many stops they had taken, to allow Gilly the rest she needed. They had taken enough for Sam to have lost count at how many days he had been travelling with the girl. Though he knew it could not have been too many days that had past, it was enough for him to be thoroughly confused.

He had been considering taking Gilly up to the wall. Taking her just past it, having her settled in a small town or village nearby. She would be safer south of the wall. Or at least he believed she would be. Perhaps he would be able to visit her, there would be a higher chance of him seeing her again if she was south of the wall, rather than if she was north of it.

He was quite glad for the friendship he had found in Gilly. She was the first person to have actually seen _him_, rather than seeing what it was everyone else saw when they first looked at him. He would never be able to thank her enough for that; would never be able to repay her enough for making him feel more real, more human than he had in his whole life.

She saw Sam.

Perhaps that was another reason he was so determined to help her. He did not want to lose whatever it was that made him feel more like a person than the laughing stock of the Wall. Perhaps helping her would make him less of a laughing stock. Then again, it could make him more of a laughing stock. But he would have to return. He was not, _could not_, be a deserter. He was scared of death, that was why he had taken the black in the first place.

When the temperature began to noticeably drop, he looked away from the fire. His hand moved to the sword he barely knew how to use. He looked to his right and almost instantly stiffened.

"Gilly."

"Mhmm."

Her head was resting on his arm, and she was almost completely asleep. His heart was leaping in his chest as he watched the approaching figures.

"Gilly!" His voice was a little more forceful than it had been last time, but he received almost no reply.

It was then he found himself asking – not for the first time – _what would Jon do_? Because he knew Jon would be able to get himself out of sticky situations that would have Sam crying in fear.

Gilly would not be waking any time soon, and Sam was not, by any means, strong enough to carry her away.

_White Walkers burn_. Was the last real thought he had before fear and adrenaline took over, completely. And his eyes landed back on the fire.

* * *

The feast was nice, he supposed. It would have been better had Joffrey _not_ been there. He was happy enough to have avoided the blonde's presence as much as he could. Ghost silently growling whenever the young lord got to close to Jon.

He had noticed that Sansa had been all but clinging to Rhaenys, having sat next to his sister during the feast – Myrcella sat on her other side. Sansa seemed content enough in the presence of the younger Baratheon, she had even made Tommen smile at one point. And Sansa seemed perfectly happy to stay as far away from Joffrey as possible. A somewhat apologetic look had been shot towards Aegon who had been stuck next to the boy.

Aegon had, of course, done everything he could to wind up, or start an argument with, the eldest Baratheon. And Jon had done everything he could, not to laugh at the petulant look on the boys face. Even Myrcella, Tommen and Sansa looked like they were trying to conceal their laughter at the boys misfortune.

"I do not think I have seen him so flustered since he fell off his horse three moons ago." He heard Sansa whisper to the younger two Baratheons, both of whom fell into peals of laughter.

"What about when Uncle Tyrion slapped him thrice over at dinner?" Myrcella piped up, a grin on her face.

The image that formed in Jon's head brought a grin to his lips, and he quickly squashed it down. He supposed it was _slightly_ rude to imagine a guest being slapped over and over while dining with them. But then again, the look on his face as Aegon was – once again – bragging about how amazing he was with a sword, was hilarious.

"Joffrey, I simply cannot understand why you won't be participating in the tourney. You have said before that you are excellent with a sword, and yet you refuse to prove yourself. I must simply assume that you are, in fact, terrible with a sword, until such a time where you prove yourself to be better than me."

And he supposed Joffrey was glad when the dancing began. Until Sansa was asked to dance, by someone who was not Joffrey. And there was something clawing inside Jon that told him that he, too, was not too happy about seeing Sansa dance with so many people. But she looked happy – almost at home, even – as she spun around the floor. A grin on her face as she moved from dance partner to dance partner. She danced through three songs with Aegon. She danced with Tommen once as well. She even danced with Myrcella and Rhaenys.

It was not until later in the evening that he found himself sat beside Sansa, a bright grin plastered onto her face as her chest heaved.

"He left." She laughed lightly.

Confused, he scanned the hall. "Who-"

"Joffrey. I saw him storm out a while ago." She laughed once more as her blue eyes turned to focus on him. "I think it was when I chose to dance with Tommen rather than him."

He smiled back at her. "I suppose he is just jealous that you would rather spend time with his family than him."

She wrinkled her nose slightly and shrugged. "He does not seem to view Myrcella and Tommen as family. Perhaps that was what made it even worse. Then again, he does not like me very much, and so I cannot fathom why he is jealous that I prefer his families company over his."

"Why do you think that he does not like you?"

Her face faltered slightly, before she secured the grin to her face. Completely ignoring his question she stood up and held out her hand. "Would you like to dance?"

Whether he actually answered or not, he was unsure. But he got up and took her hand as she led him back to the floor. He was not fond of dancing, never had been. But she made it seem far easier than Rhaenys and Dany had when they attempted to teach him.

He could see Dany dancing with Loras Tyrell in the distance, and he wanted to chuckle as he caught sight of her unimpressed expression. He knew how desperate she was to travel, and her lack of desperation to wed. A part of him wondered if she hoped to marry someone from across the Narrow Sea. It would not surprise him if one day she jumped on a boat, and came back moons later wed to a man they had never met.

After three dances with Sansa he decided to rest. Three was more than enough. She let him go with a slight frown, but turned to be swept off by some other young man who wished to dance with the only present Stark.

It was nearly the wee hours of the morning when he finally slipped out of the hall. Rhaenys, Dany and Myrcella had managed to get two dances each out of him. Sansa had gotten yet another dance out of him. And Margaery Tyrell had even gotten a dance out of him, though he left part way through that, because he was _not_ interested in any '_union between our houses_' as she had so politely put it. It was after the dance with Margaery that he had managed to slip out of the hall.

He did not want to risk another dance with another power hungry lady. Or another lady what so ever. As much as he loved his family, as wonderful as Sansa was, and as nice as Myrcella was he did not want to continue dancing. It was simply not something he truly enjoyed.

He rounded a corned, only to take a few steps back and take in a deep breath.

He supposed Sansa could not hide from Joffrey forever. And he supposed he really should just continue walking backwards and take a different route up to his chambers. But instead, he stood still. Frozen to the spot, almost. He could hear the ragged breathing from Joffrey, and Sansa gasping for air. And he suspected he knew what had just happened.

Her face had been red, and not from the dancing either. It had been angry red, bruising against her skin.

"Will you answer me now?"

Joffrey's voice was chilling and almost childish, and it cut through Jon's thoughts.

"I am not avoiding you." The lie tumbled from Sansa's lips. "Rhaenys has been wanting my company, and I have been getting to know my cousin better. I have not seen any family in so long, can you truly fault me in wanting to spend time with Jon?"

"Yes. You have a new family now. Why would you want any form of connection to the _Starks_? They do not even care enough for you to write to Casterly Rock and make sure you are well."

Jon almost screamed out '_LIES_' because he knew the Starks wrote to Casterly Rock, wrote to Sansa. Robb, Arya and Bran had all told him so. They had heard nothing from her, and had been so worried over her lack of replies. The fact that Joffrey was telling her otherwise was awful. But he supposed Sansa did not believe a word of it, or she would not have been so desperate to contact her family.

"They may not care to hear from me, but I wish to hear from them. They are my family."

_**SMACK**_.

Before he could even form a coherent thought he had rounded the corner and had Joffrey up against the wall. He wanted nothing more than to beat the boy bloody. Perhaps even go as far as to kill him. But he restrained himself, to an extent. Keeping Joffrey held against the wall as he demanded Sansa returned to her chambers and had her hand maiden help her out.

His eyes remained focused on Joffreys almost terrified ones as he heard Sansa run off. "If you _ever_ touch her again, _I. Will. Kill. You_." He moved his hands from the boys throat and pulled away from him. He made to walk away, before spinning around, his own fist colliding with Joffrey's nose.

He found himself walking back into the hall where the feast was. Locating Rhaenys, he made his way over to her, his breathing faster than it usually was. His sister had been talking to Aegon when he approached, taking in a deep breath, he met her eyes.

"I think I caught that cold you were talking about."


	9. Chapter 9

Bran had awoken to the sensation of someone climbing into his bed. The feeling of a small, warm body curling carefully into the heat of the furs that covered the bed. Summer had not stirred, and so he knew whomever it was posed no danger, and the presence of another Direwolf told him it was one of his siblings – which was more than just a little annoying. He liked his sleep.

"Go to your own bed." He mumbled, annoyed.

"But I can't sleep." Rickons voice hit his ears, and he internally groaned.

Rolling over, he turned to face his younger brother. "Sansa said if you are scared, just pull the furs up over your head – it keeps the monsters away."

Rickon seemed to scoff. "I'm not scared." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm worried."

Of course he was. Bran was certainly not happy about being woken up, far less over a, no doubt, petty reason. Rickon really did need to start growing up; even if their lady mother did not want him to.

"Rickon, go back to _your_ bed."

The younger whined, as did Shaggydog. "But I'm _wor-ried_."

"About what?" Bran all but yelled.

A satisfied smile settled on his younger brothers face, as he snuggled himself deeper into the bed, clutching at the furs in his hands. "Lady is restless." He stated. "She refuses to come back in and sleep with Shaggydog and me. She keeps whining and looking south. She _even_ barked at Shaggy for _no reason_." Rickon took in a deep breath. "It's as if she thinks Sansa is coming home."

'_Sansa is coming home_.'

"What?" Bran moved closer to his brother, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Sansa is not coming home; she's in Kings Landing for the kings name day festivities."

"But Lady is unhappy. _More_ than normal."

The earnest look in Rickons blue eyes made Bran sigh. "We'll deal with Lady in the morning, okay. Just get to sleep, Rickon. Mother certainly will not be happy if you are grumpy when we break our fast."

"Mother has more to worry about than me." Rickon mumbled as Shaggydog leapt up onto the bed to curl next to Summer.

Bran eyed his brother sceptically before closing his own eyes. He did not need to worry about his younger brothers odd musings. Surely a young child could no nothing about the world. Bran knew very little about what the _real_ world was like, or at least that was what he had been told by Arya and Theon. Not that he had a habit of taking what Arya and _Theon_ had to say to heart. But even father said Bran did not know much about the _real_ world, so it had to be true.

And if he knew little about the real world. Then Rickon knew even less. And that was how it worked. Arya would know than he, Sansa more than her and Robb more than all of them.

But as he pressed further into the bed, he began to wonder just how safe they were. Winterfell was safe, surely. And what could his mother have to worry about that was even more important than raising her children. He opened his eyes and frowned at the sleeping form of his brother. Silently cursing the younger for bringing back the blossoming fears and suspicions he had worked hard to repress, he shifted closer, reaching out to hug his brother.

Even brave knights need comfort.

* * *

He sat at the table with his head lowered, trying not to draw any attention to himself as he listened. Having only just, successfully, gotten so far away from Kings Landing, he could not bring himself to return over such a matter – surely there was someone else he could inform; if he was hearing everything accurately.

Of course, the look on his younger companions face told him that yes, he was hearing everything accurately.

The inn was not exactly dingy, but it was hardly the most amazing inn in Westeros. The wooden tables seemed to be rotting slightly. And he truly hoped it was _not_ mould he had seen in the bottom of one of the tankards. But it was warm, and he would relish in the warmth while he could. After all, everyone knew that taking the Black meant sacrificing heat as well as everything else.

Not that he had much else to sacrifice.

Neither did Hot Pie.

And the two had decided they would travel north together and take the Black. It was not like either of them had anywhere else to go. Although, Gendry could hardly say that Hot Pie looked the time to man the Wall. But he supposed a few of the people on the Wall would not look the part.

"Lannisters are payin' a lotta gold for support." One man slurred, his arm slung over his..._friends_ shoulder as he nearly toppled off the bar stool. "Says th' King is a' mad as goo' ol' Aerys."

Which Gendry knew to be a lie. He had not met the king himself, but he had witnessed the good Rhaegar had done for his people. From what he had heard, and even seen, there was nothing remotely mad about the man. And he had also had the pleasure of meeting the crowned prince Aegon and his brother Jon, when they had come personally to the blacksmiths. When he was still working there, that was. And neither of the two princes seemed remotely mad.

"Ah think, Ty'in wants ta put Joffee on th' throne... Ta control 'im from th' pos't'on of th' 'and."

"They won't be able to start a revolt without a good reason." The slightly more sober friend responded. "And Tywin will not have as many supporters as Rhaegar."

"Won' stop 'im, if he fin's a goo' reason."

Gendry frowned as he stared down at his drink. There was never a good reason to start a war. But he knew the threat of a revolt when he heard one, even if it was from a drunken mans lips. Gulping down the rest of his drink, he decided it would be best to let the Lords deal with the threat themselves when the time came. It was hardly his place to turn up at one of the keeps and demand an audience simply to tell them of a rumour.

"Should we do anything?" Hot Pie asked nervously.

Gendry shook his head. "What could we do?"

* * *

The sensation of something wet on her face was what awoke her from her sleep. Groaning she turned her head slightly to realise that it was Ghost licking her cheek. Wrinkling her nose slightly, she pushed his snout away from her as she pulled herself up into a semi-sitting position.

It was still dark in the room, which led to her feeling slightly confused. Ghost had never woken her up before. And she had not awoken so early since being at Casterly Rock. Shifting, she turned her gaze on Ghost, who seemed to meet her gaze before leaping off the bed and padding towards the wardrobe. She watched, curiously, as the Direwolf nudged at the door before turning to look at her and then nudging the wardrobe door once again.

She waited a moment, before shaking her head. "No, Ghost. It's too early." She settled back onto the bed, shutting her eyes.

She heard Ghost whine and she sighed before burying her face into the pillow. Usually she would not ignore such behaviour from a Direwolf, but it was far too early and she was tired, sore and embarrassed.

She had known she would not be able to avoid Joffrey forever, but she had hoped that if she was to cross paths with him someone would be with her. She did not expect him to catch her by herself. Nor did she expect Jon to appear just after he had hit her.  
What if Jon had seen him hit her? She could feel her face flush in both embarrassment and horror. For someone to have witnessed her being damaged... She shuddered. But he had defended her, that had to account for something, surely. He would not have defended her if he shared any sort of opinion on her with the Lannisters of Baratheons. Or perhaps he felt it was his duty to defend his family.

_He threatened to kill him_. She thought to herself. A smile almost appeared on her lips, but she repressed it, wanting to rid herself of the memory of that part of the evening.

A soft hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her thoughts. Nearly jumping out of her skin, as she turned her head to meet a pair of dark grey eyes.

"Jon?"

There was something almost nervous in his gaze as he looked down at her. His teeth lightly biting his bottom lip. He nodded in response, before briefly looking behind him. When his gaze met hers again, he looked slightly more confident.

"Get dressed."

She sat up, feeling as confused as she had when Ghost had been nudging at her wardrobe.

"Jon, what is going-"

"Rhaenys is going to tell my father that we are ill."

He almost seemed to think that would ease her confusion. Instead it only fuelled it. Why would Rhaenys be telling the king that she and his son were ill?

He looked almost sheepish as he spoke again. "I am stealing you."

_Oh_.

She _tried_ not to smile as she slipped out of the bed. "Okay." But she was unsuccessful.

"Okay?"

She nodded as she made her way towards the wardrobe. She felt something blossom within her as she opened the door. Happiness, she realised. Excitement, perhaps. She was going to be leaving Kings Landing. She was going to be leaving the Baratheons, the _Lannisters_. A hansom prince had slipped into her room, and was going to be stealing her.

Maybe dreams did come true.

They had successfully slipped out of the castle, Ghost padding just in front of them, his head held high as he sniffed the air – keeping an eye out for anyone that might notice the two slipping out of the Red Keep. They stopped by the stables, where Jon's stallion was already tacked and ready to ride. A sheet of parchment slipped under the saddle. It would not surprise Sansa if it had been written by Rhaenys.

As Jon turned to help her up onto the horse, she met his gaze. "Are you sure about this?"

Because what if he did not want to steal her? What if he realised he was making a mistake? She could not live with herself if it went wrong. She could end up hating herself if they landed in a situation they did not want. She did not want to force him into anything.

"Yes."

"And if they start a war?"

"It's what Targaryen princes do, Sansa. Start wars over Stark girls."

He did not mean it. She was sure of that, Jon was not the type to start a war. But he sounded sure enough of his words that she could not help but believe him, if only for that moment. So she let him help her onto the horse, and she smiled slightly as he climbed up behind her.

"I am slightly surprised you allowed me to do this."

She chuckled and closed her eyes as they began riding off.

"It is what Stark girls do, Jon."


End file.
